Wednesday, September 17, 2008


Swing, Roundabout


For that moment, my hand
met the stitches on your back
and you were away:
a weighted pendulum

with chains either side.
Quite safe – your grip
saw to that; even so,
you marvelled at my license.

‘Meet my eyes,’ you said,
sat at the disc’s centre,
the world drunk about me –
and I did, I held on.


Peony Moon (12 poems)
One Pane
Shadowtrain (3 poems)
Great Works (4 poems)
nth position (4 poems)

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